


echoing impulses

by littlewonders



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, Cameos from the rest of the Mankai family, Confessions, Fluff, Happy Ending, Izumida Azami has Many Feelings, Light Angst, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 13:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30106839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlewonders/pseuds/littlewonders
Summary: Kumon’s face was still slack with sleep, his cheek squished against his arm. He almost looked his own age for once, the frenetic energy that made him appear younger nowhere to be found. Azami felt a small tug that he couldn’t identify somewhere in his chest as he studied the smooth planes of his face.~*~A 5+1 fic of sorts where Azami and Kumon keep falling asleep and waking up near each other.
Relationships: Hyoudou Kumon/Izumida Azami
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43





	echoing impulses

**Author's Note:**

> This is for a lovely friend who supported me and cheered me on through the entire process of writing this ever growing fic. Thank you so much, this honestly wouldn’t exist in quite the same way without you.
> 
> Happy Belated Birthday <3
> 
> Title taken from the lyrics to Second Shot.

The late afternoon light flickered a few times, waking Azami from his accidental nap. Blearily, he opened his eyes and turned his head to lay on the side of his arm, surprised at what he found on the other end of the table. 

It appeared he wasn’t the only one to have fallen asleep by accident, Kumon was equally sprawled over his textbooks across from him. What Azami immediately took note of though, were his own fingers resting on the inside of Kumon’s forearm. They had both clearly stretched out their hands in sleep and somehow Azami’s had come to rest on the soft skin right above his pulse point.

Out of some vague curiosity, he curled his fingers, just barely pressing them more firmly to Kumon’s arm. His pulse was steady beneath Azami’s hand, a slow rhythm that felt no less alive for its relaxed state. Azami stared intently where their skin met. While he knew that he should probably move his hand away, he found that he really didn’t want to.

The tips of his fingers tingled, reminiscent of the sparklers that the Summer Troupe so loved to set alight. Odd as the sensation was, somehow Azami couldn’t say it was entirely unwelcome. For some reason he felt a blush beginning to dust his cheeks.

A quiet thunk sounded through the room and Azami started, jolting his hand back to his side of the table in the blink of an eye. He twisted in his seat searching for the source of the noise and soon found that it took the form of Omi, shyly rubbing a hand behind his head in the entryway of the common room, a group of grocery bags at his feet.

“Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“It’s fine,” Azami said, catching his breath. Now that he was more awake he felt a flash of embarrassment for his earlier actions and ducked his head. “Wasn’t fully asleep anyway.”

A knowing look passed over Omi’s eyes that would have worried Azami had it not been dispelled in the next instant with a serene smile. “What were you guys working on?”

“Math homework. Itaru’s working, Tsumugi’s out for the day, and Kumon needed help but it’s not like I’d know any better. Figured we’d suffer through it together though.” Azami stretched his arms up high over his head, cracking his back in the process.

“Ah, it must be hard when the resident tutors are busy.” Omi looked over their papers with a thoughtful eye. “Kazunari might be able to help, if he still needs it.”

“The paripi is good at math?” Azami asked, incredulous.

Omi chuckled quietly. “He’s said he was always good at studying. People can surprise you sometimes.”

_No kidding_ , Azami thought.

“You’re both working really hard, huh? I’ll make your favorites this week,” Omi said, ruffling Azami’s hair a bit.

“Yeah, yeah… thanks Omi-san.” He still didn’t know how to feel sometimes when Omi acted so motherly toward him, but he’d learned that just accepting it and being grateful was usually the best course of action.

“I’ll leave you be now, gotta get dinner started.” Omi gathered his grocery bags in hand and nodded toward Kumon. “Don’t let him sleep too much longer, alright?”

“’Kay,” Azami bobbed his head in agreement.

Omi left the room quietly, and Azami turned to face forward on the table once more.

Kumon’s face was still slack with sleep, his cheek squished against his arm. He almost looked his own age for once, the frenetic energy that made him appear younger nowhere to be found. Azami felt a small tug that he couldn’t identify somewhere in his chest as he studied the smooth planes of his face.

Sighing, Azami stood to lean over the table and nudged at Kumon’s shoulder gently. 

“Kumon. Kumon wake up.”

With a low hum his fingers twitched, his hand curling up as he awoke. Kumon sighed out a large yawn as he stretched to wipe the sleep from the corner of his eye. “Good morning,” he smiled.

Azami shook his head, fighting a grin in return. “Pfft, evening’s more like it. Dinner will be ready soon enough.”

“Hehe, oops. So much for getting this done,” he gestured at his homework. “Thanks for trying at least, even though it’s a lost cause.”

“Actually, there might be hope for you yet.”

* * *

Azami had to admit, he definitely enjoyed this combined troupe retreat much more than the first one he’d been a part of. They’d driven up to a cabin near a lake that was surrounded by mountains, the cool air crisp and refreshing against his skin. 

They had spent half the day performing etudes and improv exercises, and the other half working on physicality and active movement. Stingy-Sakyo had actually splurged on the dinner budget for once and let Omi cook barbecue by the lake.

Everyone was winding down from the busy day in their own way. Kumon had dragged Juza to the baths as soon as they’d returned. Azami had gotten comfortable on his sleeping bag in the far corner of the cabin and flipped open his look-book for the upcoming spring revival show to see if there were any small details he could improve.

At some point, Taichi chased Tenma around spouting his newest theories about the sci-fi show he’d just shot an episode for. Tenma, talented actor though he was, couldn’t keep script secrets to save his life and had resorted to plugging his ears with his fingers, yelling, as he ran away from his tormentor.

“Alright you two, settle down.” Omi admonished them. They either didn’t hear him or didn’t care because they kept fussing about, running around the cabin’s shared bedroom. 

Azami rolled his eyes at the scene. _And they call me childish,_ he thought wryly.

“Oi. Stop or I’ll make you stop.” Sakyo threatened.

Twin calls of “Yessir!” accompanied a crash as they fell to the floor together in their recklessness.

Azami didn’t know what he expected from another shared retreat with the Summer and Autumn troupes, but the level of chaos was about par for the course so far.

On the quieter side of things, after running laps around the lake Muku had his nose stuck deep in a volume of shoujo manga. Even Banri was silently tapping away at some game on his phone.

Azami noted the surprisingly quiet pair of Kazunari and Misumi, their sleeping bags pulled close together in the corner of the room. They sat upright against the wall, heads bent close to accommodate the shared headphones attached to a laptop in front of them, presumably watching a movie. Their hands were clasped between them and goofy grins spread across their faces when they each caught the other stealing glances. 

Azami heard matching light giggles erupt before he dragged his eyes away, unsure of why he’d lingered on them so long in the first place.

“Azami!” a familiar voice yelled.

He looked over to see Kumon, fresh from the baths with a towel draped around his neck, waving his hand as he entered the room with Juza. Azami shut his look-book, knowing that he was unlikely to make significant progress if he was engaged in a conversation with his friend.

Kumon dropped his bathroom tote by the side of the door, grabbed his sleeping bag from where it lay against the wall, and bounded toward Azami with a wide grin. “Wanna sleep with me?”

Azami’s face immediately flushed a deep scarlet as he reflexively yelled “Haaa?!” Distantly he heard a loud snort across the room. 

Kumon’s eyes widened in mortification as he realized his mistake. “S-sleep next to me, I meant,” he quickly amended in a squeaky voice. “Not—not like—”

His hopeless mumbles were cut off by hysterical laughter. Out of the corner of his eye, Azami saw Juza attack Banri with his pillow to shut the source up. 

With the two fighting in the background, Kumon groaned, humiliated still, and sat in place wrapping the sleeping bag around him for shelter. Something about the image made Azami swallow his shrivelled pride and reach out, the need to aid Kumon a physical weight in his chest.

“Kumon,” Azami called quietly. Kumon blinked up through damp-dry bangs to meet his eyes, a fierce blush still at home on his face. “It’s okay. Don’t mind him.”

Kumon poked his head out of his makeshift sanctuary with a grateful smile. He looked down and hugged his sleeping bag closer. With a sigh he began, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“I know, it’s fine.” Azami interrupted, unwilling to go through a new round of embarrassment recounting the situation. Quietly he added, “And yes, I would.” He looked away, a little bashful for some reason.

Kumon frowned, processing his words for a few seconds before he came to an understanding and a bright grin lit up his face once more.

Something in his stomach fluttered pleasantly at the sight. For the rest of the night, Kumon chattered away at him while Azami hummed his agreement every so often until Sakyo called for lights out. 

Azami moved to settle in his sleeping bag, fluffing his pillow before laying down.

“Azami,” a soft voice asked next to him.

“Yeah?” Azami squinted in the darkness for a gleam of golden eyes.

“Thank you, for earlier.”

“Don’t mention it.” 

Kumon smiled at him and flipped around to settle for the night.

Azami closed his eyes and sank into sleep, a small smile curved at the edge of his mouth. When Azami next opened his eyes, morning light streaked through the cabin’s windows, illuminating a purple head tucked in close to his own.

He blinked sleepily and sighed into a stretch, or rather an attempted stretch. He found he couldn’t move his right hand very far at all as it was enclosed between both of Kumon’s, their fingers loosely interlaced and pulled close to Kumon’s face. His lips parted in a small “o” shape, puffing out quiet breaths in his sleep.

Azami flexed his fingers in his grip and felt the ridges of the calluses on Kumon’s fingertips. Rough and yet still so delicate where they met his skin, sparking a light tingling sensation all throughout his body.

It felt like holding a firefly in his hand, buzzing and bright and alive.

_What am I even saying?_ Azami shook his head slightly to rid himself of the thought. As the sleepy fog lifted and he became more self-aware, Azami couldn’t stop the wave of embarrassment that leapt to his throat, his face engulfed in flames. 

Touching a wrist by accident was one thing, but unconscious hand-holding was entirely different! They weren’t heathens who flaunted their affection publicly like Misumi and Kazunari. For that matter they weren’t even courting or, god forbid, married! This was in direct violation of the Proper Steps of a Relationship as he’d been taught and he had to remove himself from this situation, immediately.

Keeping an eye on Kumon’s face for any signs of disturbance, he reached his free hand over to carefully slip out of Kumon’s grasp. As he slid his hand against the back of Kumon’s to raise it, he noticed it felt particularly smooth beneath his finger tips. Brows furrowed, he traced farther along the outside up to his knuckles to find that even they felt soft.

Kumon must have been moisturizing like he’d promised Azami. The thought gave him pause, making him linger in his grip, exploring the smooth skin even as the alarm bells sounded in his mind. 

He blinked, not knowing why it struck him as hard as it did. Sure, he nagged most of the company to take better care of their skin but the majority either ignored him completely or gave him half-baked assurances to be forgotten before they could be made habit. But Kumon listening to him, Kumon actively taking Azami’s advice filled him with a warmth he wasn’t sure how to describe. 

Though more than likely, he probably just happened to remember about the new lotion that Azami had told him about and used it recently. Nothing more to it than that. Azami deflated a bit at the thought and made quick but gentle work of removing his hand the rest of the way from Kumon’s hold. 

As he swept his gaze around the rest of the room for the first time since waking, he noticed Muku staring at them from his own sleeping bag, though he quickly averted his eyes with a growing blush from having been caught. 

Azami felt his own face burn hotter still as he realized that any of their other troupemates could have seen them, among them people who were much more loud or intrusive than Muku.

As if summoned, Misumi and Kazunari snuck hand-in-hand back inside the room with sappy smiles on their faces. They giggled quietly as they whispered to each other, casting rather unsubtle glances in his direction.

Azami felt a dull pang in his chest watching them, a longing he couldn’t place.

With a deep sigh and a quick, final glance at a still sleeping Kumon, Azami gathered up his phone and toiletry tote, resigned to begin his morning with a cooling facial scrub and a redness reducing primer.

* * *

It was a slow drift back into consciousness and for a few wonderful moments Azami had no idea where he was or what was going on. All he was aware of was a soft and constant pressure streaming through his hair, tenderly rubbing at his scalp every so often. He could easily fade back into sleep like this.

“Hey.” A rough voice called in his general direction followed by what sounded like a tapping knock on a door.

The gentle sensation on his head immediately ceased. “Shhh.” He heard in reply, his pillow deflating slightly below him with the effort.

There was a long pause before the first voice spoke again. “Mom’s about to get started on breakfast.”

The blissful ignorance of his liminal space shattered as reality set in.

Azami froze, suddenly aware of the embarrassingly compromised situation he’d created. Kumon had invited him to sleep over at his family’s actual home during their summer break, which of course he had agreed to, it’s hard to say no to Kumon after all. He hadn’t thought anything of it, even when Kumon had insisted on sleeping on the floor next to him saying, “It’s more fun this way, Azami!”

Everything had been fine, until apparently he had rolled over during the night and plastered himself to Kumon’s side, his head laid to rest on Kumon’s chest and his arms snug around his waist. Azami forced himself not to outwardly freak out, even as his brain was kicking and screaming. To stay still and breathe slowly so as not to alert Kumon that he was now awake with alarm bells bouncing off of every corner of his mind.

“Okay, thanks nii-chan.”

_Of course, Juza just had to see this too_ , Azami grumbled internally, cursing his luck. 

He must have lingered in the doorway, likely staring at how the two of them were intertwined because Azami felt Kumon lift his head higher as he hummed, “Is there something else you need?”

“No, nothing just… be careful,” Juza said, an undercurrent of trust in his words despite the severity of his tone.

Azami suppressed a shiver at the warning, as unnecessary as it happened to be. Kind as he was, Juza was imposing at the best of times and downright threatening when he actually wanted to be. Azami wanted no reason to get on his bad side, least of all by hurting Kumon.

Listening to Juza’s footsteps walk away, Azami lamented his own childish habits that led to his current predicament.

Shitty-Sakyo had always said he was more honest when he was asleep. He’d always had a tendency, in sleep, to cling to that which was important to him. Once upon a time, that had been his mother. Later, for a short while, it became Sakyo. Over the years he’d forced himself to bury his habit of hugging whatever was nearest, but it seemed to have surfaced again for this boy who kept breaking so many of Azami’s rules.

While his face burned and his mind raced, Azami took a moment to stop thinking and just feel. Kumon’s heartbeat, soothing and calm beneath his ear. Kumon’s hands, hesitantly sliding through his hair again. Kumon’s fingers, delicate in their ministrations against his scalp, unpracticed yet soothing as they were. Kumon’s chest, rising and falling in a lulling rhythm. 

This was… nice, he realized. 

There was intent and care and something else he couldn’t quite name in Kumon’s actions. Something warm that put all of his nerves at ease. Something that made him feel safe. A kind of affection he wasn’t sure that he’d felt in quite this way ever before.

Before Azami knew it his mind had calmed and he was being pulled under again. Just before he faded completely, he felt Kumon shift below him, the barest pressure placed on the crown of his head. With a deep breath he gently squeezed his arm tighter around Kumon’s waist for a moment and sank into a peaceful sleep once more. 

When he woke again Kumon was gone, replaced instead with a pillow snuggled close to Azami’s chest. As he sat up to rub the sleep from his eyes, he pointedly chose not to examine the numerous mixed emotions that squirmed through his heart and bounced around in his mind. He wasn’t sure he was quite ready for what they all meant.

* * *

Azami felt a soft plunk on his side and looked to find that Kumon had lost his battle with wakefulness, his head now resting against Azami’s shoulder. 

They’d been coming back from a weekend trip to the beach, Tasuku kindly toting around the youngest of their crew in his van. It had been a particularly exhausting day with the group running back and forth between beach volleyball and swimming for hours on end. All of which meant Azami had been squished in the backseat for the return trip home, along with Kumon and Muku. The cousins had chattered on for a while when they’d first settled in, prompting Azami to join in every so often before Muku had fallen asleep against his headrest.

Kumon had smiled fondly over at his cousin before turning his head to strike up a new conversation with Azami. His voice was ragged with slight overuse, and his energy ebbed as their exchange meandered along. Azami indulged him though, as he always did, listening to stories about past family visits to the beach, and Nii-chan this, Nii-chan that, humming his responses all the while enjoying the cadence of Kumon’s voice. The steady rhythm of his speech and the passion in his tired voice no less apparent in his waning energy.

Until, that is, he had nodded off practically mid sentence having lost the fight to stay awake any longer.

Azami couldn’t blame Kumon for falling asleep, he was tired himself after all. The kind of exhaustion that only a day spent swimming could leave you with, tired to your bones, your muscles heavy as though gravity had increased on them.

No, it was understandable how Kumon had fallen asleep. 

What Azami could not forgive at this moment, was that Kumon’s head had chosen to fall on _his_ shoulder when he’d nodded off. 

They were already pressed up against each other’s sides from shoulder to thigh as a result of being stuck in the backseat, which Azami had been… handling quite well in his own opinion. All things considered. That is until Kumon decided to fall against Azami as though he were his own personal body pillow.

Azami blushed furiously as he turned his head up and away from the sight of his sleeping friend. He quietly cursed himself for seemingly always ending up in this situation these days. Too close. The butterflies in his stomach too swirly. His mind racing too fast for him to keep up with.

It’s not like Azami was an idiot, he knew what all of these signs were pointing to. The blushing. The heart pounding. The way he stared at Kumon just a second too long sometimes. It’s admitting it to himself that’s the hard part. 

With his face burning and his mind running a steady stream of foul language, he chanced a look over to Kumon’s form again.

His face had completely smoothed out, no sign of the boundless energy that usually shone through. His hair poofed up and stuck out in every direction, agitated as it was from the day of fun. The smell of the ocean clung to him, mixing with his usual scent of what Azami liked to imagine as sunshine after rainfall, seemingly attached to Kumon no matter the current weather.

He traced his eyes down Kumon’s face and saw the barest hint of a sunburn starting to crop up along the bridge of his nose. While he had previously been bad at remembering about sunscreen it seemed he’d taken it more to heart today. He’d been doing a lot better with his skincare recently, Azami realized. The skin on his face looked smooth and well taken care of now, where before it had a slightly tougher look to it. 

And Azami couldn’t help but think back a few months prior to the Handholding Incident, when he’d felt Kumon’s soft hands gently enclosed around his own. That had probably just been an isolated occasion, he told himself. After all, more permanent soft skin requires attention and upkeep. He wondered if he were to hold Kumon’s hands now if they’d be just as soft as that one morning. 

Barely daring to breathe, he studied Kumon for a few moments, the steady in and out, up and down of his shoulders telling of his state of rest. Without giving himself a chance to overthink it, Azami slowly lifted his hand to cover Kumon’s and gradually clasp it within his own. Rubbing his thumb along the outside edge was all the answer he needed. 

It was soft.

Soft and smooth and healthy in the way that only time and attention brought.

Kumon had soft hands now. He _still_ had soft hands. He was actually taking skincare seriously. Putting thought into something that he knew meant a lot to Azami specifically. His grip on Kumon’s hand tightened as his mind raced with this new information.

Azami took a deep breath and shied away from Kumon again, bringing his right hand up to cover his face. Distantly he heard quiet murmurs between Tsumugi and Tasuku from the front of the van, but he paid them no attention amidst his crisis as it were. Rather, he tried very hard to calm his breaths and drown out his own heartbeat that was currently deafening to his ears. 

A litany of thoughts swirled through his mind almost faster than he could register them. The hand holding, the cuddling, the intimacy that felt almost scarily easy and natural around him. The improbable softness and care and what it all meant. Too close, too much, too fast, too… Kumon. 

Because what other word was there for this boy who consistently broke down all of his guarded barriers but never once barged his way past any of Azami’s actual limitations? Who sought to build him up and help him communicate his feelings when he thought it nearly impossible to do so. This boy who didn’t push him away or hold him at arm's length even when he was more prickly than not. Who inched his way ever deeper into Azami’s heart with each passing day. 

A small bump in the road flung Azami out of his thoughts and back into the present where he instinctively brought a hand to Kumon’s shoulder to steady him. He wasn’t disturbed at all, if anything he looked even more comfortable resting on Azami than he had at first glance.

Azami’s eyes drifted back up to Kumon’s wild hair and remembered how, simply put, _good_ it had felt when Kumon had all but petted his own. _Oh, what the hell,_ he thought to himself, _I’m already breaking some rules today, what’s another one._

Azami slowly reached up and carded his right hand through Kumon’s hair. The silky strands slid through his fingers easily. His hair, while short, was incredibly soft, almost like his favorite cheek brush. Azami had the fleeting thought that it was something he could get entirely too used to running his hands through.

Kumon hummed happily in his sleep, shifting his weight more firmly against Azami and snuggled the arm he was resting against close to his chest. A gentle smile graced his face as he settled down again and Azami felt a sense of pride and contentment shift into place somewhere deep within him. 

An overwhelming sense of calmness blanketed his shoulders as he released his breath and relaxed against his headrest once more. He withdrew his hand from Kumon’s hair, covering his eyes with the back of his arm. Gently squeezing his left hand, his heart swelled with a newfound fondness, light and buoyant, pleasantly bubbling with his every breath. He huffed out a quiet laugh.

Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe he could live with these feelings. If it meant feeling like this every time Kumon was nearby or so much as looked his way, maybe he was okay with that in the end.

* * *

Azami’s brows furrowed. There was a dull sensation prodding at his cheek every few seconds. He made a soft noise low in his throat and nuzzled his head deeper against his pillow.

_Tap, tap… tap tap._

He reached out a hand weakly to swat at whatever was messing with him.

_Tap, tap, tap, taaaaap_. 

He blinked his eyes open, squinting in the subdued morning light and found a certain purple haired menace before him, finger outstretched and poking at his cheek.

“Kumonwhat’reyoudoing?” Azami slurred, his voice rough with disuse.

“I missed your dimples,” Kumon said, simply.

Azami raised an eyebrow at that. “So you thought poking me awake was the best way to see them again?” he asked, flatly.

“Pretty much!” Kumon scrunched his face in a blinding smile and Azami could’ve sworn his heart skipped a beat.

Azami felt his face burn and his lips twitch, the corners threatening into a smile. He quickly hid his face in the crook of his arm before Kumon opened his eyes again, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

“Azami,” Kumon whined, doubtless pouting at the turn of events.

“No.”

“Azami, please? I wanna see them!”

“No, you lost that right when you decided to wake me up at who-knows-when.”

“Pleaaaase?” Azami felt hands tugging playfully at his arm and stiffened his posture in response.

“No way. Deal with it.”

“Hmmm… fine then, you leave me no choice,” he said, his voice oddly deep for some reason.

“What do you…” he trailed off as he realized what exactly Kumon had in mind. “No wait, Ku—!”

“Too late!” Kumon said, a smile briefly gracing his natural voice. In the next second, he brought his hands down Azami’s sides and began tickling him mercilessly. “Behold my powers of darkness!”

Azami yelped as he thrashed this way and that, but managed to keep his face hidden as much as possible amidst the attack. “Kumon, Kumon stop! Sto—” he yelled between aborted laughs. As tough as he was, he was not immune to a tickle attack. But he had to keep it together as much as possible, for the principle of the matter. The matter currently being not letting Kumon get his way for once.

“Foolish mortal, you chose this path and you know well how to end it!”

Huffing his way through suppressed giggles, Azami yelled, “You—absolute—nerd!”

Chuckling maniacally, Kumon doubled down further and began attacking his really sensitive spots in retaliation.

Unable to hold back any longer despite his best efforts, Azami burst out laughing, his mouth spread wide with a smile he couldn’t fight. His arms flew to hug his stomach in a feeble attempt to protect himself while his head tilted back against the floor. His eyes shut tight and teared up with the force of his laughter.

This outburst, it seemed, must have satisfied Kumon because Azami felt his hands still their motions. 

He curled in on himself as he came down from the giddy high and slowly regained some semblance of composure. He covered his eyes with the back of his arm, a smaller grin that he wasn’t even trying to hide anymore plain as day on his face as he tried to calm his breath.

“There they are,” Kumon said as he folded his hands over Azami’s chest and rested his chin upon them. “Now was that so hard?”

“That was horrible,” he joked, shooting a half-hearted glare at Kumon. “Everything hurts now. My face especially.”

“Hmm, if you smiled more often maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. Ooh! Maybe we can train them to stay that way!” Kumon pinched Azami’s cheeks, his head tilted back and laughing all the while and that was really the final straw.

“That’s it, come here you little brat!”

“Oh, I’m the brat now—” Kumon cut off as Azami lunged at him, using his momentum and height advantage to flip them over before he began tickling every inch of Kumon’s stomach in retaliation.

“Would you prefer demon?”

“A-a-Azaaaamiiiiii!” Kumon giggled uncontrollably, turning his head side to side and weakly batting his hands at his offender to little avail. He twitched and shivered and thrashed around, his body helpless to the laughter that tore through him at Azami’s hands. 

Azami huffed out half a laugh as a thrill shot down his spine. “That’s right, you flail for a little while, oh Demon Lord.” 

Despite his disadvantaged position, it appeared the taunt did nothing but stoke up a flare of rebellion in Kumon. He managed to grab hold of Azami’s left wrist, momentarily hindering his attack on what appeared to be a particularly sensitive spot. Not one to be outdone, Azami pulled on his arm until his hand slid down to make contact with Kumon’s, forcing it down in one swift motion. 

“Ha ha, I win,” he smirked.

While he was distracted with his small victory, Kumon darted his other hand out to Azami’s stomach once again. After an undignified squeak, within seconds Azami shifted his weight on his knees for a better reach, snatching up that wrist as well and similarly bringing it to a halt pinned above Kumon’s head.

Secure in his grips, Azami moved his gaze to Kumon’s face, another teasing remark already on the tip of his tongue before he saw how big Kumon’s eyes were blown and realized just how close they had become.

Their faces were only inches apart, breaths intermingling in soft huffs. Every point of contact between them sparked something inside of Azami. His cheeks were on fire and his palms felt sweaty where they met Kumon’s skin. There was something tangible that they held between their eyes, something that left his heart racing faster than he could ever remember it going. But he forced himself not to turn away, to keep this connection alive. His eyes searched Kumon’s for long seconds before they flitted all around Kumon’s face, noting every tiny detail they found. 

The blush that was now abundantly apparent that spread all the way across to the tips of his ears. The few tiny freckles that dotted the bridge of his nose. The rounded “o” shape of his mouth as he tried to get his own breathing under control. The way his hair created a small halo around his head from this angle. The way that even without a speck of makeup enhancing his features, Kumon was striking to his eyes. 

And the way that Kumon appeared to be making his own mental catalogue of Azami in return.

When their gazes finally met again, Azami was silently offered a question he desperately wanted to answer. His chest heaved with the effort of remembering how to breathe and he felt adrift with possibilities.

Azami squeezed his eyes shut, internally at war with himself. He wanted this, he knew that clearer than anything. Wanted the breathlessness. The blushing and the teasing and the sense of comfort and the heart-pounding rush that came with Kumon.

But there are rules about these things. Rules and steps and procedures that had been instilled in him ever since he could remember. Rules that, for the most part, he still believed in and wanted to follow. 

And yet with Kumon sometimes he longed for nothing more than to throw the rulebook out the window and write a new one together. 

So why was it still so damn hard? 

Exhaling heavily, he released his grip on Kumon and leaned away in defeat, one leg propped up with his elbow resting upon it so he could hide his embarrassment in his hand. Why? Kumon must think he was an asshole now. It was so stupid, he knew that he wanted this but still—

“Hey, Azami,” a quiet voice cut through his spiral.

He felt more than saw Kumon shifting, moving to a seated kneel just in front of him. At another soft call of his name, Azami lifted his head and slowly blinked open his eyes to find a warm expression trained on him. Kumon tilted his head to the side, a soft determination in his eyes, and cupped Azami’s face in his hands.

“It’s okay, Azami,” Kumon’s thumbs delicately brushed gentle tracks across his cheeks. Slowly he brought his forehead to rest against Azami’s and for a moment Azami let himself just feel. Feel the care and trust and reassurance that Kumon radiated. Feel the wonderful lightness swell and pulse in his chest that he thought he maybe had a name for now.

Kumon smiled quietly. “Take your time, I’ll be here.” He tilted Azami’s head down and leaned in to press a kiss between his bangs. 

Azami shut his eyes tightly, hardly daring to breathe lest he break the precious tension held between the two of them.

But the feeling of soft lips never came. Instead, something that felt papery and circular prodded at his forehead in its place. There was a sudden sharp drop in his gut, like that of an endless fall.

Azami gasped awake, eyes darting around to place his surroundings while his heart pounded against his ribcage. He was sitting bolt upright in his bunk at the Mankai dorms, his sheets a mess around him. Sakyo stood leaning over him, a rolled up script in hand.

“Took you long enough, brat.”

Breathing heavily, Azami heard himself mutter something really intelligent like, “huh?”, still disoriented from the shift in his reality.

“Practice starts soon, bon.” Sakyo huffed, crossing his arms.

“Right… practice.” He brought a hand to his temple, his mind swimming. 

Sakyo frowned at him more than he already was, surely surprised at the missed opportunity for an aggressive comeback. “You looked like you were having a nightmare.”

Azami blinked. “No, it was just a dream… a good dream.”

“I see.” Sakyo studied his face for a moment and, likely deciding he wouldn’t be getting any further answers, moved to leave. He paused at the door and turned his head halfway, “Don’t be too late.”

“I know. I’ll be there.”

The door shut behind him leaving Azami all alone in a silent room.

He gathered his bedsheet in his hands and buried his face in it. A wave of something he didn’t want to identify overtook him. Something that tasted almost the same as disappointment. 

* * *

Azami laid on his borrowed bed in the Zahfran Palace while a storm churned its way through his thoughts.

He’d been more awkward around Kumon after the dream he’d had a few weeks back, embarrassed and not entirely sure how to talk with him like everything was fine and normal. Especially when he’d discovered just how much he wanted the dream to have been real. 

Which was kind of a huge problem considering they were co-leads for the performance tomorrow. He’d sworn not to let his feelings get in the way of putting on a good show so while, for the most part, they still worked well together in rehearsals, behind the scenes he’d made more and more flimsy excuses to avoid Kumon. He felt an awful amount of guilt dodging his friend constantly but he was still processing the depth of his emotions and hadn’t felt ready to face Kumon yet. 

Ever since The Dream, he’d been hyper-aware of Kumon and constantly torn up inside about how he felt. He didn’t want to mess up the closest friendship, apart from Shifuto, that he’d ever had, and he knew that he couldn’t go on distancing himself from Kumon like he had been. It wasn’t fair to him and Azami missed his friend more than anything else he might feel. 

That’s not to say anything about how Kumon might react if he knew, which had also been plaguing Azami’s thoughts in an endless loop. Azami could hardly imagine the sheer mortification he’d go through if, after trying to explain his feelings to him, Kumon was uncomfortable in any way.

But still, despite trying not to get his hopes up, there were times when it almost felt like Kumon might feel the same way about him too. Times when his smile was a little extra bright, when he genuinely laughed at a stupid joke, when his eyes went kinda soft and gooey, all as a result of something Azami had done.

Azami sighed for perhaps the fifth time in as many minutes and saw, from the corner of his eye, as Taichi perked up and glanced worriedly in his direction. “Everything okay, A-chan? Need any help?”

The thought of Taichi talking to him about love wasn’t rare, not after his constant whining about wanting to get a girlfriend, and yet for the first time the offer seemed somewhat appealing. Kumon and Taichi were both kind of loud in a similar way, their affection was shown more readily than his own. And he had to admit, Taichi was the most Summer-y member of the Autumn Troupe. Maybe he _could_ help.

“Um, Taichi-san?”

“Yeah?”

“When you… like someone…” he forced the words out, ignoring the heat that sprang to his face at the topic. “How do you show it? Personally, I mean.”

Taichi was obviously surprised at the impromptu question about love, with his mouth falling open and eyebrows rising to disappear behind his bangs as he blinked owlishly for a few moments. Azami had tried for nonchalance and clearly he had missed the mark by a longshot, but Taichi seemed to realize the importance the question held to Azami and laughed lightly to relieve some of his tension.

“Hmmm, to show that I like someone… I guess I try to impress them. Or laugh at their jokes, compliment them a lot. Pretty much the usual stuff, same as anyone else really!” Taichi said, rubbing a hand behind his head.

Well that was incredibly vague and somewhat disappointing. Azami frowned, remembering dozens of times when Kumon complimented people and countless more of him laughing with anyone under the sun. And his very existence was impressive, with his sheer will and quiet strength that shone through his otherwise cheerful disposition. The utter care with which he treated everyone around him, brightening days with a single flash of his smile. 

How was any of that supposed to help him figure out Kumon’s feelings? Azami huffed out a breath in frustration. For all his talk about love, Taichi’s advice sure didn’t go very far. 

“Is there anything more special?” he asked, losing yet another fight with the blush on his cheeks. “Something that tells them you l-like them as more than a friend?”

Taichi’s face scrunched up in thought before it popped like a firework with an idea. “Oh, well, I always listen to what they have to say! Like really pay attention to all the little details! Or I’d try to help them when they need it, even when they’re too stubborn to ask for it themselves. Oh, and I always try to get close to them! Like either physically or emotionally I guess, but still leave them their own personal space so that I’m not intruding or anything. That’s really important.”

_The lotion_ , Azami thought. Kumon listened to his stupid rants about skincare and did something about it. Not to mention he’d helped Azami get on more comfortable terms with a number of the members of the Mankai Company when they first met. And he’d been there for him to help patch up Azami and Shifuto’s friendship when it was rough, even when Azami hadn’t asked for it. As for that last part...

“You know A-chan,” Taichi said slowly, bursting him out of his thoughts. “It’s not often you ask about lo—”

He was interrupted by a curt knock on the door. Azami let out an internal sigh of relief, thanking whoever was on the other side for interrupting Taichi’s thought. Taichi tilted his head, following him with worried eyes as Azami crossed the room. _Though if this is Shitty-Sakyo coming to nag at me again, I swear…_

He’d barely cracked the door before it was shoved open wider, a short figure waltzing into the room. “Switch dogs with me.” Yuki demanded with no preamble as he strode in to set down the garment bag and sewing kit in his arms. He was already unpacking his supplies before either boy had a chance to react.

Azami blinked, “What?” he asked dimly as he heard a startled cry of “Yuki-chan!”

“I need to finish attaching some of the lacework on this costume.” Yuki showed no signs of pausing as he plopped his suitcase on Azami’s empty bed and reached for the zipper to open it up. “You’ll surely want to sleep though so go take the empty bed in my room.” 

A trail of ice ran down Azami’s spine as he remembered who it was that Yuki had been sharing a room with for this trip. 

He didn’t know if he could bear a night spent in the same room with Kumon while his feelings were still so fresh, like a wound that hadn’t quite scabbed over yet. Not when he had just been given an inkling of hope without any time to process it and quell its fickle flames. 

He racked his brain, searching for anything that could get him out of this impending fate. “Okay, but why am I the one being kicked out?”

“I’m already here. It’ll take a while but I can be done in half the time with his help.” Yuki nodded his head to where Taichi was scrambling up from his own bed to lend a hand in organizing everything.

“Couldn’t you have done all this in your own room?” Azami asked as a last ditch effort.

Yuki stopped unpacking and straightened up. He stared directly into Azami’s eyes, uncharacteristically serious for a moment. “Maybe, but there’s something else there that I can’t do.”

“Huh?” He couldn’t help but feel he’d missed whatever message Yuki may have tried to send his way, preoccupied with his own internal panic.

A tentative hand brushed Yuki’s shoulder, “Yuki-chan, maybe we could—” Taichi started but quickly winced and retreated as he was cut off by a fierce glare.

With a roll of his eyes, Yuki sighed and turned back to Azami. “Here’s your room key for the night. Off you go.” He waved his hands in a dismissive motion before filling Taichi’s hands with sewing supplies and murmuring instructions.

“I really don’t think—”Azami tried but before he could do anything else he heard a disgruntled “Ugh,” from Yuki and he was shoved forward out into the dimly lit hallway, the door shut firmly behind him. 

“You’re lucky I already did my skincare ritual,” he grumbled at the door, petulantly.

With nothing else to be done, he set off down the gilded hall toward Kumon’s, and now his, assigned room. He took a deep breath. He could do this. It was just one night, he could push his own feelings down and make an attempt at normalcy for one night. 

For Kumon’s sake he couldn’t let him know anything was off. Azami absolutely refused to become a source of stress for his best friend and co-lead the night before their performance.

He slowed to a stop as he approached the door, his stomach churning with nerves. Azami brought the key up toward the lock but paused with a sigh. He gripped the door handle as he bent forward to press his forehead against the smooth wood.

With his ear so close to the door Azami heard a faint sniffling noise from inside the room. Before he’d even fully processed the sound Azami jammed the key in the lock and shoved open the door.

Kumon startled from where he was curled up on his bed, his legs hugged to his chest. “Azami—?!” he yelped out, frantically.

Azami strode across the room in quick steps to examine him further. The image he stared at felt so viscerally _wrong_ he felt a sharp pang in his chest at the sight.

Kumon looked so small to his eyes, a blanket tightly pulled around his thin frame in a poor imitation of a hug. His eyes, red and shining with the weight of tears, searched erratically around the room as if looking for a way to escape Azami’s notice.

_Like hell you’re gonna hide this from me_ , Azami thought. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked instead.

“Wh-where’s Yuki?” Kumon squeaked, fidgeting where he sat.

“He said to switch for a costume thing,” Azami brushed his question aside to get back to what actually mattered. “What’s wrong?” He held the back of his hand against Kumon’s forehead. Not a fever, yet, that was good at least.

“N-nothing!” Kumon pushed Azami’s arm aside and turned in his spot, hiding his face away from Azami’s worried gaze.

“Kumon…” he walked around the side of his bed to face him again.

Kumon’s eyes flickered about the room avoiding Azami’s intent gaze. “I’m totally fine, don’t worry about me.”

At that remark a tendril of anger flared to life inside his chest. “Don’t give me that crap, you can’t tell me you’re okay right now.”

“I’m fi—”

“You’re not fine!” Azami insisted. He sighed, trying for a more gentle tone, “It’s okay not to be okay, but I just want to help.”

Kumon’s eyes widened, fresh tears now gushing freely. His breath came short and he clutched at his head as if the volume of his thoughts had been cranked up.

Azami had always been caught in the orbit of Kumon’s gravity, but now it was more intense than usual, a terrified yank instead of a pleasant tug. His eyes were turbulent as storm clouds while his chest was racked with waves of shaky breaths. 

Azami reached out and took hold of Kumon’s hands, attempting to ground him even a little. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to take away his pain, to absorb the ache that burned through Kumon’s mind though he barely had any idea of where to start.

“What do you need?” he heard himself ask in a rush. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Can you just talk for a while? Please?”

That surprised him, but he guessed listening to someone else was as good a distraction as any. “Okay. About what?”

“Anything.” Desperation coated Kumon’s voice. It sounded so wrong to hear it so empty, almost lifeless in a way, that it struck Azami with a sense of duty he couldn’t ignore.

So Azami moved to sit next to Kumon, one hand on his back rubbing smooth circles, the other still clasping one of Kumon’s tightly. And Azami talked. 

About a new makeup palette he’d found that he wanted to try on somebody, about how he’d heard the Tiggers were having a really good season and maybe they could go watch a game together sometime, about the importance of a regular skincare regimen and how he’d seen that Kumon had been doing really well with his. He talked about Shitty-Sakyo and how he had nagged Azami the whole flight over, about the new volume he’d seen recently of Kumon’s favorite isekai manga, about the delicious meals Omi was sure to cook for them once they returned home. About how he could tell that Juza was really excited to be able to support his younger brother in a show for once.

Outwardly he scarcely had a clue what all he was saying. He just kept speaking in low, hushed tones, his hand circling on Kumon’s back in soothing motions, solely focused on bringing Kumon back from the false demons that troubled his mind. Anything to make the sun shine in his eyes again. He talked and he talked until Kumon’s breathing evened out and then kept talking some more.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but he’d floated back into a sense of self awareness when he spoke about avoiding Kumon these past weeks and how sorry he was and that he knew it must have hurt.

Kumon wiped at his face this way and that with the palms of his hands, bringing them to rest on his eyes as he hung his head for a few seconds, just breathing. When he looked back up at Azami, his eyes were still bright with unshed tears, but they appeared to be held at bay for the time being. He took a deep breath and focused his gaze with a soft resolve.

“It did hurt, seeing you avoid me. But what bothered me more was not knowing why.”

Azami winced. “I’m so sorry, Kumon. I was… working through my own issues. And that’s no excuse for how I treated you but—”

“It’s okay, you don’t owe me any explanations,” he shrugged off Azami’s worry, his tone genuine though he shrank into himself again. “I just hope you figured it out?”

“Yeah, I did,” Azami said, his voice thick with emotion he couldn’t hold back.

“I’m glad, then.”

They sat together quietly for a few moments while Azami searched his brain for the right words. He needed to tell him how he felt, now. Kumon deserved to know, no matter how terrifying the admission seemed. But before he could come up with anything Kumon broke the silence between them with a soft sigh. 

“Don’t think that I can afford your magic brush this time.” Kumon said with a wistful chuckle. “It’s too bad. I’m such a mess, I could really use it.”

“I changed my mind, it’s free of charge.”

Kumon huffed out another half laugh. “Be careful, then everyone’ll want a turn with it.”

“Just for you.” The words were out of his mouth before he even processed them. “It’s free only for you,” Azami said more slowly, deliberately, his eyes imploring Kumon to understand.

Something shifted in Kumon’s eyes then, as if he’d flicked the switch on a lightbulb. “For me?” he repeated steadily, hope lacing his words.

Azami’s heartbeat pounded in his ears. “Yeah, Kumon. You.”

Kumon searched Azami’s eyes for what felt like a small eternity before a tiny smile broke out. He whispered, “Really?”

“Really.”

A disbelieving but undeniably joyful expression settled on Kumon’s face, giggling with a new wave of happy tears. He propelled himself forward, his cheek colliding with Azami’s while he clutched at the back of his shirt with tight fists.

Azami was stiff with surprise for only a second before melting into Kumon’s touch. Kumon didn’t hesitate to reach out and wrap his arms around Azami’s waist, tucking his face into Azami’s neck. Azami rubbed a soothing hand down Kumon’s back.

“Can I… for a minute, can I just…” Kumon trailed off as he shifted to lean his chin on Azami’s shoulder, his fingers delicately sweeping along the flat of Azami’s back, sparking goosebumps in his wake.

Azami released a shaky breath as he shifted to cup Kumon’s head in his hand. While he carded through his hair with gentle fingers heard Kumon let out a contented sigh. “Yeah. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

They sat there for long minutes just breathing together and holding each other tightly. For once Azami’s mind was clear and free from distress. From worrying over “the rules” and “the proper steps of a relationship”. Maybe they were doing things in the completely wrong order. Maybe they were breaking about a dozen or so of his rules right this second. 

But maybe the rules were made to be broken when the right person came along, and Azami found he didn’t mind at all breaking them for Kumon.

After some time, Kumon giggled and murmured something indistinct in Azami’s shoulder.

“Hmm? What was that?” Azami loosened his grip and leaned back.

“A favor, then. For using your brush.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he shook his head, a fond grin just barely turning the corners of his lips upward.

Kumon leaned closer again, determination gleaming in his eyes, a lilt bouncing in his voice. “Then for helping me tonight?”

Azami could see that Kumon needed this. A favor to be asked. Something to show his gratitude with, to prove his resolve. “Just do your best out there tomorrow. I wanna create the best show for the audience. Will you do that with me?”

Slowly, a blinding smile came to bloom on Kumon’s face. “Yeah, I will.”

Drawn as he was to Kumon’s light, so brilliant he could outshine the sun, Azami couldn’t hold back his own wide smile in return.

Azami fiddled the fabric of Kumon’s shirt between his fingers. “Do one more thing for me?”

Kumon nodded. “Yeah, anything.”

“Close your eyes.”

A brief look of surprise crossed Kumon’s face before it smoothed out and his eyelids fluttered shut, a serene grin in place as Azami cupped Kumon’s cheeks in his hands. 

Azami summoned all of his courage and tipped Kumon’s head down, gently pressing his lips against his forehead.

“Consider us even.” His face was on fire and his palms were sweaty where they held Kumon in place, but none of that mattered when Kumon blinked his eyes open, shining with love as he traced the planes of Azami’s face with his gaze.

Keeping eye contact with him, Kumon brought a hand up to cover one of Azami’s on his cheek, his thumb stroking tenderly along its curves. He turned his head to the side and placed a feather-light kiss to Azami’s palm. “There, _now_ we’re even,” Kumon teased, intertwining their fingers as Azami’s blush turned several shades darker.

Eventually, they fell asleep curled around each other. In the morning when dawn cast its soft rays into the room they awoke, shy but assured. With an eager smile, Kumon took Azami’s offered hand, both of them ready to face the stage together.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!
> 
> I couldn’t really fit this in properly but in part 4, Tsumugi and Tasuku were totally gossiping about the kiddos and reminiscing about how their own relationship started. “Reminds you of the early days doesn’t it, Taachan?” / “Yeah, it does, Tsumu.”
> 
> Also, if anyone’s curious I imagined the AzaKyu lead play to be a Wicked retelling (shhh I know Tsuzuru’s already done a retelling of the Wizard of Oz but I beg of you to imagine Elphaba!Azami and Galinda!Kumon, please let me live in this fantasy world). But for real li//ber, official AzaKyu play/duet when???
> 
> Again, thank you so much for reading!! I hope you have a lovely day! <3
> 
> EDIT: @Kyuu_tan on Twitter drew [ this adorable piece from part 2](https://twitter.com/Kyuu_tan/status/1374321914345365504), please go look at it it's amazing!!


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